


Aang Jongmu and the Secrets of Long Academy

by DerAndere



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: (But No Knowledge Of The Books Is Required), Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - No Bending (Avatar TV), Charlie Bone AU, Gen, Relationship/Character Tags Will Be Added Once They Become Relevant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25146637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DerAndere/pseuds/DerAndere
Summary: "I didn't fly", Aang repeated with a sigh. "Sure you didn't", Bumi retorted without looking at him. – Aang falls out of a tree, and his life changes irreversibly.
Relationships: Aang & Bumi (Avatar), Aang & Gyatso
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	1. Probably The Wind

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a Work-in-Progress and will probably still change.

"Fire!", shouted Bumi, and Aang slipped. 

It would not be entirely wrong to say that it all started here, in this very moment, with two boys in the crown of an old, gnarled chestnut tree throwing shade on a small house, smoke drifting across the sky in a dark grey cloud somewhere south. 

In reality, of course, everything had been set in motion long before either of the children had come into the world, long before even their grandparents had drawn their first breath, by fate or an unknown power or simply by coincidence, it was impossible to tell anymore, in a faraway land that was nothing more than a distant memory now, its name long since forgotten by history. 

A child had been born there, to whom, nobody knew, in winter or spring, with dark eyes or light, and he had been destined for greatness from his very first second on. 

For centuries to come, parents would tell their little ones of the unmatched feats the man he'd grow into would accomplish, of the adventures he'd had and dangers he'd braved, and the children would listen with bated breath and glowing faces.

Neither boy, however, high up in the treetop, had ever heard of him, and so (not least of all for reasons of brevity), one exclaiming and the other falling, in that order, is as reasonable a place to start this story as any other. 

As Aang fell, feet above his head, there was (other than the certainty that he would break his neck upon impact) not much more on his mind than the fact that he would never find out where it was burning. Later, he would be disappointed to realize that his life had not flashed before his eyes in bright, brilliant colours. 

For now, though, he was falling, with his heart drumming in his head and his arms flailing desperately without his cooperation. 

And his nose itched. 

(At just the right moment, too.) 

Just before he hit the ground, eyes shut tightly, hands balled into fists, he sneezed.

"Whoa!" 

The world flipped, and so did Aang's stomach, and the tree grew into the sky again instead of disappearing into the ground, and time began to move at the right speed again. 

A second later, his backside hurt, and the back of his head hit the grass much gentler than it was supposed to. 

His eyes fluttered open. 

Feet met earth with a dull thud somewhere next to him. 

The sky was very, very blue. 

A dirty face entered his field of view, green eyes wide, twigs and leaves stuck in his untamable hair, and Aang inhaled, and Bumi's mouth opened and closed like that of a fish trying desperately not to suffocate. Neither friend managed to articulate any thoughts, barely even able to form them, one too busy breathing deeply, the other gaping uselessly. 

"Are you okay?", the boy standing finally said. 

"I think so", the boy lying on his back answered quietly. 

Then: "Am I dead?" 

Bumi's face split into a relieved grin. 

"No." 

His gaze flickered up, then over to the chestnut, then back down to Aang's limp, aching form, and Aang couldn't be sure, because his heart was beating loudly in his ears and the sun shone brighter than it usually did, but he could've sworn that gum wrapper hadn't been stuck behind his friends ear a second ago. 

"It was so weird! And awesome! And ... and ... it was so weird!" 

His fingers were spread and so were his arms, waving around him so fast they made Aang's head spin. He rocked from his heels to the tip of his toes and back again, a bundle of nervous energy. Aang hadn't known eyes could have so much white. 

"There was this light, right? And it was really bright, but just for, like, a second, and then it was gone again, and you were, like, almost as high as me again, and the other way around, and then you fell, and ... and ..." 

He shook his head. 

Brushed a blade of grass from his nose. 

"You were flying, dude!" 

"I wasn't flying", Aang replied automatically, because that was definitely one of the more ridiculous things that Bumi had ever said. "People don't fly." 

"But you did! Flip-flopping through the air! You didn't see, but I did, and first, you were falling, with your head down and everything, and then your eyes glowed, I think, but maybe that was just reflection or something, I dunno, it was super quick, but I swear it was there, this super bright light and then you shot up again! Like a rocket! Like, ... at least ten feet, I think."

Aang rubbed his forehead, still not sitting up. 

"It was probably the wind." 

Bumi arched a brow. 

"The wind?" 

"Yeah. Just ... y'know ... a gust of wind or something. I mean ... I wasn't flying. So that must've been it. Right?" 

Aang stared up at Bumi, who looked quite unconvinced. 

"I mean ... maybe." 

"But you don't really believe that, do you?" 

"Oh, absolutely not", Bumi shook his head fervently, still rocking back and forth. "I saw you fly, man. Or ... like ... float. Something like that. And it was awesome. And not the wind. Can't wait to tell Kuzon about this." 

"For what? So he can laugh at me falling out of a tree?" 

"Yeah. But also because you were _flying_." 

He looked up for a moment, at the chestnut's lazily swaying leaves. 

Then he shook his head with a sigh, like he realized for just a second that this was a battle he couldn't win (he was right), and reached out a hand for Aang to grab. 

"You should stand up." 

Bumi hauled him up with such vigor, his arm almost popped out of its socket, just as soon as their hands wrapped around the other's wrist, and with the snap of fingers (or the creaking of Aang's arm), the world felt normal again. Because Bumi had never known his own strength (he never would), and so his shoulder usually hurt when the other boy helped him to his feet. 

This more familiar pain made him feel grounded. 

"Thank you", he said and brushed grass off his trousers. 

"Well, it was my fault you fell in the first place", Bumi grinned, all worry already vanished from his face, probably still excited over the (ludicrous) idea of Aang flying. "Only fair to help you up. Next time, I'll make sure you're holding on somewhere before I tell ya something's on fire. Promise." 

Aang rolled his shoulder. 

"You better. What is it, anyway?" 

"Dunno." 

They craned their necks in almost perfect unison, but from underneath the tree, there was nothing much to see but a dark column of smoke growing higher and higher into the sky, getting torn to ribbons by the wind that was now starting to pick up. 

Bumi scratched his cheek. 

"Looks like a pretty big fire, though." 

"I hope nobody got hurt." 

"Hm-mh." 

Aang turned his head to see Bumi stare into space above them, brows furrowed in a barely noticeable way, though he hadn't stopped grinning. His eyes weren't as huge anymore – much greener again, less lost in white – but still widened, now in excitement instead of helpless worry. 

"I didn't fly", Aang repeated with a sigh. 

"Sure you didn't", Bumi retorted without looking at him. 

"I didn't. There's a fire", he lifted a hand and waved it vaguely around to indicate the smoke. "People could be dying." 

"Yeah, well, they're not dying here, so what am I s'posed to do 'bout that? Here, you are flying. Well, you were. Seriously, what else d'you think happened? I saw you fall. Your head was down. And then you flew up and kinda turned, and landed on your ass, not your head. I saw." 

There was seldomly such insistence in Bumi's voice. 

It wasn't rare for him to come up with odd ideas – and most of them were great fun, like that one time he'd insisted they build a soapbox that had been cobbled together in an afternoon, assembled of mostly duct tape and glittery stickers, and then taken them down only half a hill, where they had broken an arm and a foot respectively – and wild theories – like that month he'd been convinced (or pretended to be convinced) that their history teacher was actually a time traveller –, but usually, when Aang shook his head about any of them, he let them go again rather quickly. 

Not this time, it seemed. 

"You didn't see." 

"I'm the one who fell, though." 

"Jumbled your brain, probably", muttered Bumi. 

Aang wrinkled his nose. 

"No, it didn't." 

"Yes, it did." 

"It was the wind." 

"Was not." 

"Was, too." 

"I–" 

"Boys!" 

Their mouths clapped shut, and they turned their heads. 

In the backdoor to Aang's family home stood an old man clad in bright colours, face lined and friendly, and his mustache was stretched into a smile. He was Aang's grandfather – one of two, and the more affable by far –, and he looked at them with a raised brow, like he knew they had been about to fight (pettily squabble). 

His name was Gyatso. 

"Aang, it's almost six – dinner time", he said. 

Both children lit up. 

The man chuckled. 

"Bumi, you wanna join us, or are your parents expecting you?" 

"Not 'til seven." 

"Come on in, then, the both of you." 

They were already running towards the house, disagreement momentarily forgotten, because neither of them had anything but food on their mind from the second Gyatso had said the word "dinner". Pushing through the door and past the man, both willfully ignored – or maybe just didn't hear – his calls of "Your shoes, boys!" 

He followed them inside with a sigh and slight tilt of his head but didn't stop smiling. 

**–oOo–**

"Did you see the fire?", Bumi asked through a mouthful of vegetables and rice. 

"I saw the smoke, yes", replied Gyatso, who very rarely commented on the neighbour boy's table manners anymore – it had yielded no results in the past, and it wasn't like he usually spat food all over the table. That had happened only once, and it had been an accident. So it didn't cause him much grief, letting this slide. "It is coming from downtown, I reckon. Though it's hard to tell where exactly it is burning from the kitchen window. You shouldn't worry too much about it. I'm sure the Fire Department will have everything under control in no time." 

The kitchen was small, with just enough room to house the three people sitting around the old, scratched up table and the giant dog lying between two of them on the ground, staring up at Aang with pleading eyes. They had a larger dining room, and nicer plates than the ones they were currently eating from, too, but they only ever used those when Grandfather Tashi and the Uncles came to visit. 

Once, when Aang had referred to them as such, Kuzon had laughed and called it the lamest band name he had ever heard. Bumi had almost choked on his juice, and they had cried tears of laughter for weeks over the mental image of the four old men, one more sour-looking than the other, trying to fire up a crowd. 

The only one who'd never minded or turned up her nose at the prospect of eating in the kitchen with them was Aunt Iio, whose smiles were usually a little strained, but she didn't come to visit them quite as often as Aang would like and certainly not as often as Grandfather Tashi. 

Aang dropped a piece of carrot. 

It vanished before Gyatso had fully turned his head. 

"Are you feeding the dog again?" 

"No." 

"Would you rather have him starve?", Bumi exclaimed in mock outrage. 

"Appa should know by now that begging is not the way to go. And Aang should know that we shouldn't reward it", Gyatso said and then, with a wink Aang wasn't sure he'd actually seen, he, too, dropped a carrot under the table. 

Appa's tail drummed against the tiles. 

Then, like nothing had happened: "Mrs. Makapu called with a message for you." 

The boys exchanged a glance, and Bumi snorted. 

"Probably should prepare for your funeral, then", he said, chewing. "How's he gonna die? Oooh, will there be another volcanic eruption? I missed the last one, I think, must've slept through it." 

Aang hid a grin behind his chopsticks. 

Mrs. Makapu was nice enough, he thought, but also a little bit kooky. 

She liked to predict all sorts of things, from the colour shoes the man you'd come to love would wear when you met him over simply the weather to actual natural disasters, and very rarely – if ever – had any of her premonitions come true. Most of the neighborhood usually regarded her with kind smiles and a secretly rolled eye by now. She lived with her niece, Meng, in a colourful house closer to Bumi's than Aang's, and operated a small business from there, selling crystals and prophecies to people who didn't know her quite as well as her neighbours. 

Meng was the only person Aang had actually met who'd never questioned her aunt's predictions. And he knew she never had, not only because she had told him so, but also because she'd slapped a hard candy out of his hand when they'd first met, explaining that her aunt had warned her about somebody choking on something. Most likely on this very day, but he should better be careful for the rest of the week because one could never be sure. 

She'd changed schools not long after that. 

"Nobody is going to die, my boy", Gyatso chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "No, she just said to be careful when climbing trees from now on. Though I'm not sure if she's afraid you'll fall out of one, or that one's gonna fall onto you." 

"When did she call?", Aang asked, furrowing his brow. 

"Just before I called you inside. Why?"

"Betcha she just saw you fall and then ran home to call your grandpa, so she'd be right about something for once." 

"You fell out of a tree?" 

Gyatso's hands were on Aang's shoulders in a second, pulling him around to better inspect him, and Aang rolled his eyes as Bumi snickered. 

"I'm fine, Grandpa. Bumi startled me and I slipped but I didn't hurt myself or anything." 

His head was turned to the left, to the right, then up and down again by soft, wrinkly fingers gripping his chin firmly, until he pushed his grandfather's hand away with a laugh: "I promise, I'm fine!" 

"Yeah, he saved himself by flying. Didn't even hit his head." 

Aang scowled at his friend, and Gyatso frowned. 

"I wasn't flying. You're being ridiculous." 

"Am not." 

"Are, too." 

"Flying", Gyatso interrupted. 

When Aang turned to look at him, he seemed rather stricken. He had gone pale, his mouth was pressed into a thin line, and Aang felt small all of a sudden. The last time his grandfather had looked at him like this, eyes so nervous, face so fearful, his world had collapsed. Everything had changed. 

Gyatso's hand felt heavy on his shoulder, but he couldn't move to shake it off. 

"I wasn't flying", he said once more. "I fell, that's all. I didn't hit my head 'cause I was lucky." 

"Glowy lights and flying ten feet into the air isn't what I call _being lucky_ ", Bumi persisted. 

"The wind–" 

"Bumi." 

Gyatso's voice was quiet, his gaze focused on something above their heads. 

"Are you sure you saw Aang fly?" 

"Grandpa–" 

"Yes. Well ... maybe flying isn't totally right. Just like ... shooting up? Like ... he fell, there was a light, but really short – but really, really bright – and then he was back from where he fell and then he fell back down, but the other way around. His head was down first, and then his feet, so he landed on his backside instead of his head." 

"Maybe you just looked into the sun, and the wind turned me around." 

"I didn't look into the sun!" 

"Oh, but I was flying?" 

"Yes, you were!" 

Aang felt himself grow annoyed – angry even. Why couldn't Bumi just let this go? Why did he have to drag Grandpa Gyatso into this stupid fight? And why did Grandpa actually seem to _believe_ this ludicrous theory? 

Why did he look so ... nervous? 

People didn't fly. 

He _hadn't flown_. 

"I think it would be better if Bumi left now. I think ...", and the next part of the sentence was spoken with the deepest, most regretful sigh Aang had ever heard his grandfather sigh, "I need to make a few calls. Aang, please go comb your hair." 

Which meant Grandfather Tashi and the Uncles would come. 

Which rarely meant anything good. 


	2. Lighter Than Air

Aang chewed on his bottom lip.

His hair still stood up right above his left ear, and Momo was desperately trying to wiggle out of his grip, claws digging into his forearm. He didn't feel quite ready yet to let go of him. He needed something to hold onto, something to hide behind.

"Please?", he said.

The cat meowed.

The boy opened his arms with a sigh.

"You know he's not easily forced to do something", Gyatso said from beside the window, not turning to look at his grandson. "He's much like his owner, in that regard."

On any other day, Aang probably would have smiled at those words. As it was now, his mouth didn't even twitch. He was busy watching Momo clamber up the oldest piece of furniture they owned (a once-red, often sat upon armchair that had stood right where it did now – in the living room corner furthest from the door, not so far from the window Gyatso was staring out of – for as long as Aang could remember), and contemplating if it was worth another try to convince his grandpa that there had been no flying.

Because there hadn't been.

He dragged his sleeve across his nose.

"Why do grandfather and the uncles have to come?"

"We came to an agreement, Tashi and I, when I gained custody over you, that I would inform him of any strange happenings in your life. He may not be my favourite person in the world", and understatement, really, "but I am a man of my word."

Aang couldn't help but scowl.

"Nothing strange happened", he insisted. "I just fell out of a tree. I did before."

"You did. You scraped your knee, your elbows, got a bloody nose once when you ran into a low hanging branch. On all accounts, I really should stay away from trees. What makes today's falling out of a tree special is Bumi saying that you didn't just fall."

"Yes, but it's _Bumi_."

And Aang loved Bumi with everything in his heart, and usually, when somebody called his friend a loon, he was the first jump to his defence, but today, he didn't have the patience for his odd theories – Bumi wasn't even here anymore, and still they couldn't drop it.

"Bumi has two working eyes."

"Maybe he looked into the sun, and saw a bird and then looked back down and saw me, and he just thinks I was where the bird was. But really it was the bird; I was already on the ground."

Because that did make way more sense.

Grandpa had to see that.

But Gyatso only shook his head, and Aang wished Momo was back in his hold.

Momo, for his part, was now kneading the backrest of the armchair with his paws.

"What's Grandfather gonna do about me flying?"

"I don't know, Aang", and he sounded rather tired while saying this. "There are a few things you don't know, buddy. About ... this family. And I had hoped I wouldn't have to talk to you about them until you were older, or until you asked to no more about the family yourself. But now ... if you really did fly ... well, there is no way to put this talk off anymore."

"Why are you saying that like it's even possible?", the boy asked, a little impatient.

"Because it _is_ possible, Aang", was all his grandfather said.

Aang dropped to his site with a frustrated growl, burying his face in the sofa cushions and probably messing up his hair again in the process. He couldn't find it in himself to care.

"I promise, it will all make sense in a moment."

"I doubt that", he muttered.

Nothing ever made _more_ sense once Grandfather Tashi and the Uncles got involved. He had no reason to believe that they would actually be helpful today. They rarely made any effort to include him in their conversations, and if they did, it was to talk to him like he was a small child or order him around the house.

_"Go fetch more cookies, Aang."_

_"Go make us some tea, boy."_

_"Go hang up my coat."_

_"Don't slouch, don't giggle, go comb your hair, child."_

_"Go get my coat, it is freezing in here."_

The doorbell rang and effectively cut off his disgruntled thoughts. He turned his head a little to peek at Gyatso but quickly shoved his face back into the sofa when the man turned around.

"Would you like to open the door?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Alright then."

Aang waited until Gyatso's steps echoed from the hallway's tiled floor to sit up again and straighten his t-shirt, hair, and shoulders. He didn't want all of this to happen, because this situation was ridiculous, and he was sure Bumi hadn't stopped laughing since he left their home, but now that it would happen, there was no reason for him to not at least try to minimize the target for criticism his relatives seemed to always see painted on his forehead.

He heard the door open and then–

Nothing, for a moment.

He frowned.

Grandfather and his brothers always entered complaining – there was dirt on the floor, it was cold, that new painting they'd hung up was hideous –, but there was none of that now, no booming voices, just the quiet shuffling of feet and a klick when the door closed again.

"It's nice to see you, Iio. Thank you for coming so quickly."

Aang perked up a little.

"Of course", his aunt replied softly.

He slid off the couch and crept across the room to poke his face around the doorway.

Aunt Iio smiled when she saw him.

Though many years younger than all four of her brothers, she often moved as though held down by something heavy, her shoulders sagging, her eyes tired, and he remembered – hardly, anymore – that he had asked Gyatso once why that was, if something was wrong with her. His grandfather had only sighed and tilted his head, not taking his eyes of Iio, before promising that everything was fine, never explaining why it was that she walked like somebody was wrapped around her legs to stop her from doing so.

"Hey there", she said. "I heard you can fly now."

Aang slumped against the doorway with a groan.

Her smile widened for a second.

She didn't take off her shoes – she never did, though Grandpa insisted on everybody else doing so – and not her coat, either, even if it was much too warm to wear one outside, Aang thought, much less inside the house. But that, too, was nothing new.

"You aren't excited?"

"I would be. If it had actually happened."

"You don't think it has?"

"No."

"Hm. Weirder things have happened around here."

He began gnawing on his bottom lip again.

"Have they?"

She exchanged a glance with Gyatso he couldn't hope to interpret, and his frustration rose again because they were already excluding him, despite Grandpa promising that everything would make more sense soon.

"Certainly, Aang."

Right now, it was just getting more confusing.

"Let's wait in the living room for my brothers", Aunt Iio said and put a hand on his shoulder once she'd reached him. He took half a step back almost instinctively, brows furrowed in annoyance. "Much easier to get comfortable there. Gyatso?"

"Go on."

The old man grinned at them.

"Go enjoy the quiet before the storm. I'll be fine waiting here."

"Alright then. Come on, Aang."

Her feet dragged across the living room's fuzzy carpet, and in the back of his mind, Aang could practically hear the nagging voice of his Uncle Pasang: _"Lift your feet, boy. There's no reason for you to slouch like your good-for-nothing aunt"_ , could almost see his aunt duck her head, something like defiance in her eyes but never saying a word.

He wondered if it had always been like that between them. If that was just how things were with brothers and sisters. He didn't have any siblings and neither did Bumi or Kuzon – Grandpa Gyatso had grown up with an older brother, but Aang could count the times he'd mentioned him on one hand, and so it was hard to tell what was normal and what was Patola family-specific. Maybe it was better that he was an only child, though.

(Sometimes, he still wished there was somebody who understood. His grandfather tried, always had, always would, but it was very different, being orphaned and losing a child.)

The couch tried to swallow him when he fell onto the cushions. Aunt Iio sat down beside him, hands folded neatly in her lap.

Momo leapt off the armchair with grace only a cat could ever hope to possess and stretched while yawning before padding through the living room with lazy steps, slowly back over to the sofa.

"I didn't fly", he said quietly. "You know that, right? You were just teasing."

He needed somebody to be on his site, somebody to believe him. Grandpa Gyatso usually had his back, but today, he had apparently decided to lose his mind, so Aunt Iio was his last and only hope for backup.

"Oh", she sighed. "Oh, Aang, I wish I was." And all hope went out the window. "Look, I can't be sure what happened when you fell out of that tree. Your grandfather told me a friend of yours saw you fly, or so he said. Maybe you just landed well and your friend made up a story–"

"That's what I've been saying!"

" _B_ _ut_ –"

The boy groaned and slunk deeper into the sofa cushions, if that was possible at all.

The cat jumped onto his aunt's lap and started kneading her thighs, which made her wince and didn't help lift Aang's mood in the slightest.

"–it is just as possible that what he saw is what he said he saw. There are some things, Aang, about your family that ... well ..."

Another sigh.

"Your parents ... before they ...", she shook her head. "They were determined to raise you without the craziness that seems to stick to this family like glue. Your father especially didn't want you to grow up as he did – that's why you got your mother's name. Tashi was furious with them when he found out about that one. It was the first time Metok actually won one of their fights. Stood his ground, threw your grandfather out. Told him to not come back until he could behave himself."

Aang pulled his legs onto the sofa and turned towards her. Iio tugged on a loose thread in her jacket.

"I never knew that."

"No, I know. He doesn't like that story being told, your grandfather."

"He doesn't like a lot of things."

"Hmm. He never did. I always thought they were lucky, you know? My brothers? Because it skipped them. Well, three of them. It skipped your dad, too, and nobody let him forgot about that. They ... they always longed to be special, and I ..."

She inhaled like it was a hard thing to do.

"Special how?", he asked. "What do you mean, what skipped them?"

"They think you have a gift Aang. And I really hope that you do not."

"A gift? I don't–"

The front door was pulled open suddenly and loudly without the doorbell ringing prior, bringing their conversation to an abrupt hold. Aang's mind was left swirling with incomplete thoughts, still confused, though at least not quite so annoyed anymore, because all Aunt Iio had managed to do was fill him with more questions.

"Welcome, gentlemen!", Gyatso exclaimed from the hallway.

"Still haven't learned how to open a door like a normal person, have you?", retorted a voice like tires on gravel that made Aang sit up straighter automatically, as if pulled by invisible strings. He just barely resisted the urge to jump to his feet, too, and brush the folds out of his clothes.

"And miss out on seeing your grumpy old face form an expression that isn't disdain for once? Not a chance. Now stop standing on my porch like ordered and unclaimed and come in. Your sister's here already; she's in the living room with Aang."

"Could've come to greet us, the boy."

Feet shuffled, clothes rustled.

"Should've, yes."

A walking stick clicked over the tiled ground.

"And how should he know that you're here when you don't ring the bell?"

"Don't be smart with us, Gyatso."

"Well, with you here, how else am I supposed to have fun, Yonten?"

Aang bit back a grin, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Aunt Iio do the same. Her fingers were deeply buried in Momo's fur, who was purring now, big green eyes closed, but his ears twitched towards the doorway when the men's steps came closer, got louder.

"One would assume that age would do away with some of that silliness of yours."

"You must've just been born yourself, then."

Somebody made a noise in the back of their throat – Uncle Kunchen, Aang thought, and hated that he could tell them apart by a harrumph – and a moment later, Gyatso stepped into the room, an easy smile playing on his lips, behind him four men seemingly always sorted by height.

It came naturally to them, Aang assumed. Grandfather Tashi, as the oldest brother, was always at the tip of their formation – or the furthest right, depending on how they were standing. He was also the shortest, bent with age and leaning on a cane because of a bad knee. Unlike Grandpa Gyatso, who was bald because he liked it that way, he was bald because the last of his hair had long since fallen out.

The man slammed his cane against the ground and Aang jumped.

"Stand up, boy. Greet your grandfather."

He stood without question and bowed his head.

"Hello", he said.

"Speak up!"

"Enough, Tashi", Gyatso interrupted. "I called you to honor the agreement we came to after our children's deaths. Not so you could terrorize my grandson. He's had an exciting enough day as it is."

Which wasn't exactly the truth, if one asked Aang. (Which no one would.) An unnvering day, maybe, and certainly an annoying hour or so, but up until Bumi had shouted "Fire!", his day had been exceptionally ordinary.

And what had that been, anyway?

Was it still burning?

"Sit down", Uncle Pasang said, who stood to Grandfather's left, only slightly taller and just a year or so younger than him, with piercing green eyes that had always stood out because he was the only of his siblings with those eyes. He'd gotten them from their mother, Aunt Iio had once said, and not elaborated further. "We have much to talk about."

Aang fell back onto the sofa, just a little closer to Aunt Iio than before.

Nobody else sat down.

"So, you have a gift, do you?"

Uncle Yonten's voice was deep and always just a little too quiet – unless he was talking to his brothers, of course. His hair was cropped short and steel grey, his clothes impeccable no matter the situation, no crease in the wrong place, no shirt ever untucked.

The way Grandpa talked to him could almost be mistaken for the banter between old friends on most days, if it weren't for his clipped reactions.

"I don't know what that means. If you're talking about what Bumi said – that he saw me fly, that _I_ can fly –, then no. I don't."

"Flying", Uncle Kunchen muttered, who was, like Aang's father had been, like Aang himself would probably be one day, tall and lanky. His face was thin, his cheeks were sharp, and something about him was odd, something was off, but Aang had never been able to tell what it was. It wasn't easy, being around him, or even looking him in the eye. "Certainly a possibility. Isn't it, Iio?"

A smirk pulled on his lips.

Her jaw clenched.

"Certainly", she replied.

"I still don't understand."

"He should've always known."

"Metok and Jia didn't want him to. Now, you may have no trouble walking all over your son's wishes – you never did and they knew that, which is why they left Aang in _my_ custody –, but I am not about to disrespect my daughter's. Or his. We have no choice now, and I called you here because I am a man of my word. If Aang really has a gift, we agreed to tell him. And then it is time."

"And if he doesn't?", Iio asked, surprisingly forcefully.

Aang looked up to meet Gyatso's eyes, and the old man smiled, tension leaving his body for just a moment, the lines on his face softening.

"There is no going back now."

There most definitely wasn't.

They couldn't start with all these weird hints and suggestions, talking about gifts and flying like it was something people actually did without planes, behaving like crazy people with crazy secrets. Though that last part was nothing all too new for Grandfather and his brothers, he thought.

"You always should've known", Grandfather said, bitterness in his gravel voice, "that you are descended from a family of great renown. A family whose name you should carry – would carry, if it weren't for–"

"I'm warning you."

It came out as a growl, almost, and Gyatso's eyes were hard again, his hands balled into fists.

"We can trace back our family tree for hundreds of generations, thousands of years", Tashi continued, showing no reaction to Gyatso's words at all. "Powerful people, gifted, blessed–"

"Cursed", Iio muttered, audible for only Aang right next to her.

"–with the magic of our ancestors."

Aang wanted to believe that all of this was some odd practical joke – and he would, probably, if it had been just Bumi and weird story and then Grandpa and this even weirder family history lessons, maybe even with Aunt Iio involved, because she could be funny if she tried, if she really wanted to be, but he could not imagine what would compel Grandfather or any of his uncles to help Gyatso out with a prank. That, more than the seriousness of their faces, the graveness of their voices, was what made him sit and continue listening.

"There used to be powerful magicians, sorcerers, people who could do things far beyond our imagination, Aang", Gyatso said in something like a sigh. "It has weakened over the centuries, that magic, but it is still very much alive in some people, and almost all of them would – if they managed to go back far enough – probably find one of those familiar with old magic. Magic today often expresses itself in ... well, we call them gifts, and they are often very specific in the individual person, but they can vary wildly between them. I used to know a boy who would touch a piece of your clothing and receive a vision, showing him something that had happened or would happen to the owner of the clothes. He had no control over them and didn't always know how to interpret them. A girl that could conjure up illusions, and the more she practiced, the more real they seemed to become, until they were indistinguishable from reality."

Which sounded awesome.

Like ... really, really awesome.

The problem was only that he hadn't flown.

Even if all of this was true – and Grandfather's presence almost guaranteed that it was –, he was not special.

Not in the way they talked about, anyway.

He was just a normal kid with normal friends in a normal, boring suburb, and today, he had fallen out of a tree for possibly the thousandth time in his life, and nothing else had happened, but still everybody had decided to go crazy over it.

So he said: "How am I supposed to believe this is real?"

"Iio", Kunchen said, and it sounded like an order. An order for what, Aang couldn't tell.

Aunt Iio squirmed in her seat.

"Is this necessary?", she asked.

"It would be the easiest way to prove what we're saying is true", Gyatso replied, much gentler than Kunchen had spoken his sister's name.

She sighed wearily, then picked up Momo with shaking hands and put him in Aang's lap – from where the cat, ungrateful little traitor that he was, jumped immediately to trot out of the living room and out of sight. Her shoes, big enough for Aang to fit three feet into one of them, were tied with many careful knots, laces wrapped around her ankles two and three and four times. And when she slipped out of them, her feet were tiny.

Her coat was next, taken off with even more reluctance and handed to Aang with a quiet: "Hold this, please", as her feet began floating, drifting into the air as if pulled up, and Aang blinked.

He felt like she had thrown a blanket made of stone over him, so heavy was the coat when he gathered it into his arms properly, like every pocket was filled with rocks, and he could suddenly understand why her shoulders were so sloped – she didn't just seem to be weighed down, there was nothing invisible about the burden she carried, her coat just literally weighed a ton.

"This was a mistake", she mumbled, and when he looked up from her jacket, she was hanging upside down in the air, her head right next to his still, her feet somewhere in the air above them, floating higher by the second, and he grabbed one of her dangling arms with widened eyes, not thinking at all.

His nose itched.

His heart drummed.

His mind stood still.

His aunt was flying.

 _And nobody was doing anything_.

"I shouldn't have taken off the shoes first."

His uncles didn't bat an eye.

Neither of his grandfathers moved to help him pull her down again, not a muscle, they didn't even look surprised, and even though he was throwing his whole body against whatever was lifting her up, all that happened was that he was dragged from the sofa and onto his feet as well, clinging desperately to her arm.

The coat slid from his knees and fell onto the ground with a thud.

His fingers dug into her sleeve.

"You're not heavy enough", Iio said. "Let go, it's fine; there's a ceiling above us."

"You're flying", he breathed, now standing on the tip of his toes.

"I know. I promise that nothing bad will happen if you let go of my arm. So, please, just ... loosen your grip, yes? I can handle this, and it's really starting to hurt, Aang."

He relinquished his hold on her arm with great reluctance and sank back onto his heels as soon as he had.

"How is this ... why ... _I don't understand_."

Then he sneezed and hit his head on the ceiling.


	3. Possibly Concussed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, but hey! It's something.

Aang’s head was throbbing. 

His mind was spinning wildly. 

Above him, blurry through watery eyes, he could see his aunt gazing at him worriedly, the soles of her feet pressed to the ceiling. Beneath him was a fuzzy carpet, soft and safe. 

He blinked. 

“Curious”, Uncle Yonten said, crossing his arms over his chest, and then Grandpa Gyatso was next to Aang on the ground, feeling his head with quick wrinkly fingers for the second time today, which was odd, the boy would think if he could think clearly at all. 

He lifted his own hand to rub his aching forehead. 

Things were slowly coming into focus again. 

“ _Aang_!”, Grandpa said with emphasis, loudly, like he’d said it once before, and Aang turned a little, feeling like his head might explode from the pain and the confusion and the everything of it all if he moved it too much or too fast. 

Then he blinked again, now at the old man. 

“Is he alright?” 

Voices shouldn’t come from so high above. 

“I think he might have a concussion.” 

He shook himself and swallowed when nausea and regret washed over him. 

“I’m fine.” 

“You’ve hit your head twice in a very short amount of time, Aang.” Grandpa’s voice was gentle and his hand on Aang’s cheek familiar, as safe as the floor. The boy resisted leaning into both. “And now you’re all zoned out. I don’t need to be a doctor to know that can’t be good.” 

“I’m zoned out”, the boy replied – as forcefully as possible, though without moving out of Gyatso’s grip –, “because Aunt Iio is flying.” 

He indicated the woman hanging under their living room ceiling like a giant spider with a few missing limbs. 

“Floating, technically”, the woman corrected softly, and he scowled up at her, the crease between his eyebrows sending a new wave of pain through his head. “It really is nothing to worry about, Aang. I have lived with this … ability … for the past forty-nine years, and while it hasn’t exactly made my life easier, I have found ways to handle it.” 

“There’re weights in your jacket.” 

“And my shoes. My trousers. Everywhere.” 

“You can’t make it stop?” 

He’d be desperate to. 

He had been desperate to. 

She sighed. 

“There are supposed to be ways.” 

“None of which she was ever able to master”, Uncle Kunchen smirked. “We expect better from you, of course, boy. Our father always had quite the soft spot for Iio, and so he wouldn’t make her try as hard as he likely should have. The same will not be true for you.” 

Disdain crept into the smugness as soon as he’d said “father”, curiously, and Aang realized he knew even less about his great-grandfather than he knew about the man’s wife – at least somebody had mentioned the latter’s eyes to him before. And he knew she’d died young because Aunt Iio had told him she understood, a least a little bit, when his parents hadn’t come home. 

But none of the Uncles, nor her or Grandfather had ever brought up their Dad before. 

“He did his best.” 

“Tried and failed.” 

“Don’t–” 

She inhaled. 

Closed her eyes and balled slim hands into fists. 

“We are not having this conversation now.” 

“I’d quite prefer that. We’ve had it too many times already. And there are more pressing matters to discuss than our father’s failures. Like the boy’s schooling. The determination of the extent of his powers. He’s quite useless if he needs a cold to activate them at all.” 

Iio grit her teeth. 

If Uncle Kunchen was disappointed that she didn’t rise to the bait, he didn’t show it. 

“My schooling?”, Aang asked. “What about it? I’ve been doing well!” 

“You have indeed.” 

Grandpa sighed – for the millionth time today – and finally let go of Aang’s head, grabbing his arms instead and carefully pulling him back onto the sofa. With scrambled brains, Aang found that he rather enjoyed vanishing into the cushions. He closed his eyes for a moment. 

“Nothing less would be acceptable”, Grandfather said sternly. “But there is no doubt in my mind that you could be doing much better at a better school. Like your father, you have great potential. Like your father’s, it has been wasted. Until now. You still stand a chance.” 

“Tashi”, Gyatso cut in, clear disapproval in his voice, then turned to Aang. “There is a school – downtown, in fact, not ten minutes if we took the car – that prides itself in being a place for the gifted. They teach everybody who can afford their fees, of course, but they much prefer those children with abilities … or those at least descended from a family that has brought forward many gifted people in the past. I met your Uncles and Grandfather there.” 

Aang blinked open an eye. 

“… you went to school together?” 

Why had this never occurred to him before?

“Certainly”, Yonten said. “But that is hardly what should concern you at this moment in time.” 

The boy turned his head to look at Gyatso, now sitting next to him. 

“I don’t want to change schools”, he said, because it wasn’t hard to guess where this was going. “I like my school. Bumi and Kuzon and everybody’s there, and the teachers like me. I don’t want to go to a special school.” 

“This isn’t about what you want.” 

It never was, with them. 

“Grandpa”, he whined. “Please.” 

“I’m sorry, buddy.” 

And he looked like he was, too, Grandpa did. There still was a sigh in his voice, quiet and defeated, and something unfamiliar in his eyes. Something heavy. Something sad, maybe. Something that didn’t belong. 

“It’s a good school.” 

Aunt Iio snorted. 

Her hands flew towards her face, covered her mouth, the second all eyes turned towards her. 

“Apologies”, she mumbled against her fingers. 

“Is it not a good school?”, Aang demanded, with all the indignation he could muster. Then he repeated: “I don’t wanna change schools. ‘Specially not if it’s a bad school.” 

“It is a good school”, Gyatso assured him. “If only because you will meet children there who are like you, children with gifts they still have to figure out. They have some very interesting programs as well. Theatre, music. Your father, I suspect, wouldn’t have made it quite as far as he did as an artist had he not made his start there.” 

His father hadn’t made it very far as an artist at all, having died at thirty-two, but Aang had seen his work, and there was no denying that he’d been very talented. 

“Did Mom go there, too?” 

“She didn’t, no.” 

“Why not?” 

“It’s an expensive school, Aang, and we weren’t exactly rich when she was a child.” 

“Oh.” 

The boy rubbed his forehead. 

“So, when do I have to go there?” 

“It’s Saturday”, Kunchen said. “Enough time, I would think, for us to get in touch with Ozai. You can start on Monday.” 

“Monday? I won’t even have time to say goodbye to my friends! I won’t–”

“You’re being hasty, Kunchen. We can’t drop bombshell after bombshell on the poor boy and expect him to keep up. His head’ll explode. He won’t transfer school on Monday. Or at all next week. I don’t care how fast you can get in touch with Long, I still need to talk to his old school, we need to get his things together and see if he’s missing something, buy him a new suitcase, maybe, and he needs to pick a branch. He’ll transfer next Monday at the earliest, and that’s only because I know there is no sense in arguing with you on this any further.” 

They stared at each other, unmoving, both of them, their weathered faces stony, and Grandfather harumphed and Aang mumbled: “What do I need a suitcase for?” 

“It’s a boarding school”, Aunt Iio explained, still dangling in the air. “Well, half-board. You’ll be allowed to come home on weekends. 

Aang pressed his eyes shut. 

If his head were to explode, now’d be a good time, he thought. 


End file.
